A DAY IN THE LIFE by THE BEATLES. Story by David Meldrum
The news spread quickly — the newest Beatles’ album was out, and they were going to play it full blast.
NORWEGIAN WOOD. Fiction by Dorothy Simmons
Get to know your neighbours, I thought, stepping back. ‘Grab a chair,’ I said before remembering I didn’t have any yet.
IMAGINE by JOHN LENNON Story by Lucia Nardo
I love my son’s tattoos. The latest addition is the word 'imagine' on his right upper arm.
YOU’VE GOT TO HIDE YOUR LOVE AWAY by THE BEATLES Story by Stephen Andrew
Despite my stage fright, a dodgy monitor and a handful of fluffed lines, my little trio are sharp enough and together enough to sound OK.
HERE COMES THE SUN by THE BEATLES. Story by Carmel Bird
In Hamlet, Polonius says to his son: Neither a borrower nor a lender be/For loan oft loses both itself and friend
HELP! by THE BEATLES Story by Aimee Chan
One of my strongest memories is the pure joy we got out of making each other laugh. Belly laughs that happened while you hung upside down on the monkey bars were even more hilarious.
ALL THINGS MUST PASS by GEORGE HARRISON Story by Vin Maskell
“The White Album,” my son said one night. “Fair bit of filler on it. But I’m keen to learn more about George Harrison.”
The Perfect Chord: a personal tribute to The Beatles
Chris Mangan Maternity ward, Melbourne 1964 It would be hard not to think of The Beatles upon hearing the perfect chord that introduces the song A Hard Day’s Night, the perfect chord to symbolise a worldwide phenomenon, and the perfect fanfare for a newborn life in Melbourne 1964.
Do You Want To Know A Secret? by The Beatles. Story by Bea Jones
Bea Jones Wellington, New Zealand. 1963 In my first tentative relationship with a fellow student I felt I had found my soul mate. where the rampant hormones were matched by our mutual passion for art; many Sunday afternoons spent wandering the back streets of Wellington, sketch book in hand.
HARD TIMES ARE OVER by YOKO ONO Poem by Stephen Andrew
Stephen Andrew Yarra River, Warrandyte, 8 December 1980 Word comes from a car radio in the riverside car park. Calling out, surreal, to nobody, “John Lennon has been shot”.